Heathens
by Your Faithful Servant
Summary: Talon, an amnesiac assassin who doesn't have a name, much less a family, is a perfect addition to the Suicide Squad. Nevermind his mental issues, the fact he kills at the drop of a hat, and he can't even remember what he had for breakfast. He knows he probably shouldn't be allowed out.


_Eighty-six, eighty-seven…_

It's calming, so very calming. Physical exercise helped him forget his problems for a moment (like his little memory… issue) and kept his body in top condition. A necessity. Besides, doing sit ups upside down (with the help of the suspended bar he'd asked for) felt like second nature.

His therapist at Arkham, what little he remembered of her anyway, never let him exercise nearly as much as he wanted. It was how he avoided problems, she always said, and he was too underweight anyway, didn't have the calories or any fat to burn. He still didn't eat well.

But luckily for him, his therapist wasn't here. It was doubtful he'd ever go back to that place. When he was in a mood for it, he was one of the most compliant members of this little team they had, and was incredibly skilled. To the US government, he was much more useful doing their dirty work than locked up for being crazy. Besides, he was simply known as Talon, without the burden and strength of a real name and identity, and no family ties. If he died, no one would notice or ask questions.

Belle Reve wasn't awful, anyway. He hadn't actually been given a prison sentence, but Batman (Bruce, a buried part of his brain told him, but he didn't ever say that aloud) had brought him to Arkham, which was just as good apparently- not to mention the numerous crimes and murders he was both rumored and proven to be a part of. At the very best, he was unpredictable, stubborn, and violent, and no one protested that being locked up. Even if someone cared, he obviously was not a good candidate to be back in productive society. Who was there to care, anyway?

(There was someone, maybe- he remembers a grin, and a blood stained smile. A fist in his hair. A rough, calloused hand in his own. Someone else too, small with a frown, dark skin and a flash of green eyes. But snapshots. Only snapshots he wasn't entirely sure were real)

The only thing that sucked about Belle Reve was the guards. However, since he was quiet and kept his head down, the abuse was minimal, and mostly verbal. It wasn't difficult to keep calm in such a such a secluded environment.

It was when they let him out that the problems occurred.

He hated when he lost control, when bodies dropped faster than flies under the blade of his knife or bullets he'd aimed, because when he was angry or afraid or anxious it'd happen faster than he could process. Even when it was exactly what was asked of him, exactly what they all wanted, it twisted in his stomach.

But that wasn't the worst part.

It _thrilled_ him. It felt good to give in, to kill. Was it the conditioning of Talon, or the person he used to be that liked it? There was never an answer. Luckily, those questions never bothered him for long. It wasn't often that his mind was clear enough to think that way. Most of the time, his thoughts were muddled and far away, his instinct and conditioning at the forefront, pushing down everything else. Even without the drugs, the haze never receded. It was easy to give him orders in this state, but he also tended to act more on his emotions and act irrationally. At least, that's what the file he had stolen stated.

He did not trust ARGUS.

"Talon!" Someone knocked on the bars of his cell, and he instantly flipped down, face emotionless as he walked over to the speaking person. "You're being transferred." Code phrase. Another mission with his team.

(They liked being out. Always grinning, saying it was about time, that they'd missed being outside. Never hesitating to reek a little havoc while they were out, stealing some minor things, looking forward to requesting more from Waller when they were done. But not him. Never ever him)

He nodded, let the too tight cuffs for transport be placed. Didn't fight back, even when they were far too constricting, reminded him of awful, painful days he could barely remember. However, today was a good day, one where he could remember more than most and his personality was more in control. He wished it wasn't.  
It made the required killing more difficult.

* * *

"Where're we goin'?" one of his teammates asks in the armored truck. Talon's mismatched pupils simply stared down at his gloved hands, his goggles still up in his hair, pushing up his bangs. Relaxed, for him. Except he wasn't, and at the next words he shot up like a rocket.

"Gotham."

His heart stops. Why? He has no idea. The words shouldn't mean anything, they shouldn't, but also colorless snippets of the past tug at his brain. A house- no, too big. Mansion. An older man in a suit, unamused. A dark haired woman, grinning as she grips the handle of a thick, worn whip.

As always, the half-memories only leave him more confused than before.

"Doesn't the Bats have Gotham? Besides, him and us don't exactly get along, if y'all forgotten."

"They say he's doing something else, or something. He's otherwise occupied. Red Hood and Robin are down there, apparently, but trusting Red Hood is just damn stupid and Robin's just a kid. They'll need-"

"They can handle more than you think," Talon says in his usual quiet tone before he can stop himself. The words just spill out. They all stare in shock. He doesn't blame them. He talks rarely, especially when it came to matters of opinion.

The agent makes a sour face. He likes the man even less now, and that's a surprise. He already didn't enjoy his company from the moment the man walked onboard and looked at them all with disgust, like they were somehow lower than him. They weren't heroes, that was for sure, but they were still people.

"Well, what do you know?!" The man snaps. "You can't even remember what you ate for breakfast this morning."

"Hey, leave him alone." They were all protective of each other, even over the soft-spoken broken Talon. They were the only people in the world that would, after all. Talon surprisingly felt the same way about them. They didn't treat him like he was broken or somehow inherently evil like everyone else. Sure, they weren't the good guys, but… They weren't bad friends at all.

"Nothin' he said warranted that response."

"Whatever," the man scoffs dismissively, turning away from them all. "You're still going."

"You all right, Talon?" Someone lightly elbows his ribs a few minutes later. He nods. It's a lie.

They all know.

Even when they drop into Gotham and he almost breaks down at the sight of Red Hood and Robin (Jay… Jason and D… Damian?) they don't ask.

They know Talon is just as much a mystery to himself as he is to everyone else.


End file.
